Poetry of a Sharpened Heart
by Dragondream987
Summary: Daily life can be a struggle, but it's at least more understandable when written down. Soul Evans cracks open his notes for a glimpse into his thoughts while trying to make it through.
1. Price of Intellect

My Dear Meister

Your mind is never quiet, though you very often are. I know this well enough from all the times I've tried to get your attention and you were too absorbed in your thoughts to hear me.

In your mind there is a constant roar, not from voices of author's opinions fighting over each other to be heard, but rather the roar of a fire that is continually stoked by your thinking.

The flames lick at your sanity and the more you try to feed your mind the more you feed the fire.

Sometimes you can't sleep because the blaze is too much, the brightness of it keeps you awake or the burning of your eyes from its smoke or the smell of the short singed hairs around your face distract you from much needed rest.

You wake up in the morning and your skull feels like it could split. The doctors call it a migraine but you and I both know better, it's the fire burning on inside you with a vengeance.

At times you pass out, give into a blackness because the flames devour the oxygen you need to function; only when they've decided that they've had their fill do they recede and let your consciousness return.

The embers crackle and allow you some reprieve, though only for a moment, because as soon as your mind starts churning again, the fire is fed and it rages in you until the cycle is repeated.


	2. Coffee Nights

I lazily stirred the dregs of my coffee around my the bottom of my cup as I watched the diner lights flicker overhead. The grounds had escaped from the bottom of the pot the waitress had been using to top up the mugs that peppered the diner's tables.

I had gotten the last of what she had been carrying around and as I stirred I tried to assign a reason as to why. Maybe it was because I was younger, and should for some reason be more accustomed to some things in life, such as not every cup of coffee being steaming and smooth.

Leave the fresher part of the pot for those who had been through more than I, were more experienced in life. I felt a flash of anger at the thought. If anyone was experienced, had been through enough, it was me. I'd been through hell. They should be the ones able to handle the grit, I was done.

My indignation promptly dissolved though as I considered maybe this was the waitress' way of seasoning me, showing me the next step so that I may one day reach the point that the older couple two tables from me clearly had, worthy of a hot, fresh brew every cup full.

I kept stirring the cold grounds in front of me while I contemplated the waitress' intention, cruel or kind. It was an idea I felt could bleed into a myriad other subjects and my hand stilled as the feeling of being totally overwhelmed by the broad expanse of its possibility washed over me. I almost lost myself in the idea, but managed to gather my wits and think.

Maybe the waitress had meant something by her action, but then again maybe she had just been trying to finish the pot.


	3. Flying High

Having been on as many aircrafts as I have for assignments you think I'd be used to it, but some things still worked to aggravate my senses.

The recycled air for instance stifled your breathing, as if you were trying to inhale a sort of gaseous styrofoam. It didn't help that it carried that uneasy hospital smell of plastic and the scent that comes with too many bodies being packed into a small space for extended periods of time. Except for of course the short bursts of time when acid smelling meals were wheeled down aisles every few hours or so.

And the ever present buzz of the engines that grated against the silence throughout the flight, awakening a sort of migraine at the base of my skull. The dimmed yellow lights added to the affect, something about their melancholy glow seemed to only egg on the discomfort.

Still, flying carried some sort of calming familiarity despite all this. There was a rhythm between Maka and I, we had traveled enough to have it figured out. She would read and I would shut my eyes and let my mind run rampant until I managed to doze off. My dreams would become the stuff of nightmares until Maka rested her hand on mine and my body would relax into the seat for the rest of the flight.

As the vibrations of the wheels tucking into the belly of the plane racked the floors, I felt my eyes become heavy and my heartbeat calm. I lulled into a dazed sort of sleep, felt my meister's hand ghost over my own and waited patiently for the moment when our journey through the sunset tinted sky would come to an end and scraped the ground once more.


	4. After a Battle

My love, would you please state your case?

What you think about my actions and my lack of fundamental grace?

I can't know what you're thinking if you never say a word

And simply seethe alone in the corner by the window.

Are you losing sleep over this? Because I ask that you do not.

It's in the job description, I knew the danger but still I went and fought.

It was my own err that landed me here, not any fault of yours.

So please, if I am on your mind let it be for something sweet not sour.

And still if something else torments you, perhaps a move you could have made,

I ask you learn and let it go, so you become a better meister and I a better blade.

It's how we grow, making mistakes

And using our folly as lesson and guideline for improvement.

My love, I ask you look at me and share the turmoil in your heart.

It's from there I swear a remedy will surely make its start.

I can ask your forgiveness for my reckless impulsiveness

And hold you in my arms in recompense.


End file.
